


First Blood

by Laylah



Category: Last Remnant
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Threesome, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:45:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I understand that Rush has offered you a demonstration," David says. "Would you find such a thing to your liking?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [More to Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7175) by [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah). 



The thing they don't tend to mention in all the stories about heroes is that when you fight something really big, like a Spiritlord or a Dragon? You make a really big _mess_, too.

"Oh, man," Rush says, staggering away from the Abelisk that's just gone crashing to the ground. He can't help laughing, because if he doesn't laugh he'll be totally grossed out -- he was right under the stupid thing when he got that last hit in, and it sprayed blood all _over_ him on the way down.

"Rush?" Dave says, following him. "Are you -- are you all right? Tell me none of that is yours."

Rush shakes his head. "I'm fine. I'm just a mess."

Dave's lips quirk at the corners, the way they do when he's trying not to smile. He still seems to think he has to be serious all the time, even out on the road with the guys instead of in council rooms and stuff. "You certainly are," he says. He glances to the side, then back again. "You realize you're, ah, quite a distraction for some of our allies like that."

"What, seriously?" Rush says. He looks over in the direction Dave nods, and Caedmon's watching them, eyes wide, teeth bared as he scents the air. Which, okay, Rush does kind of reek of blood right now, but doesn't everything around here? And it will for a while, too, since the Abelisk went down in pretty good condition, and the guys are splitting it up for its components.

"Seriously," Dave agrees. He takes a step closer, lays one hand on Rush's sticky-wet arm. His voice is low and purring like they're in bed instead of out on the battlefield. "You realize," he says, "that sovani are naturally more predatory than mitra. Many of them treat raw blood as...a delicacy."

"Yeah?" Rush says. He looks back at Dave, and Dave has that kind of wild look in his eyes like he gets sometimes in a good fight. "So...Caedmon's looking at me like that because for him it's like I've just been dipped in chocolate."

Dave's losing the trying-not-to-smile battle. "Something like that, yes," he says.

Rush raises an eyebrow. "Seems like a shame to let that go to waste," he says. He smiles at Caedmon.

"It does," Dave says. He leans closer and licks Rush's cheek, slowly, like _he's_ enough of a predator to think it tastes good. Metal scrapes as Caedmon starts to lunge for them and then stops himself.

"You're awful," Rush says. Still, he's the one who makes sure his path toward the lake to clean up takes him past where Caedmon's standing. He leans in closer than he needs to, shivers at the barely-voiced noise of hunger that Caedmon makes. "Hey -- you have plans for tonight?"

Caedmon's tongue flicks out over his chops, bright pink against the white fur around his muzzle. "I do not," he says. "You are...free?"

Rush shrugs, reaching up to press his fingertips to Caedmon's mouth. Caedmon licks the blood from his glove, rough tongue dragging against the leather. "I promised you a show sometime, yeah?" Rush says. "You should come share me and Dave's room tonight."

There's another scrape of steel as Caedmon's arms flex -- he manages to hold back enough to just put one hand on Rush's arm. "I would be honored," he says, "if you are certain I would be welcome."

"Of course," Rush says. He grins up at Caedmon. "I'm just sorry we can't stop now, and take advantage of this, um, opportunity."

Caedmon laughs, soft and quick, nothing like the crazy laugh Wyngale has on the battlefield sometimes. His eyes are wide, his mouth still open to bare his fangs. "As am I," he says. "But I have no doubt that this evening will be...at least as compelling."

* *

To say that a grim town like Ghor thrives seems strange, but Caedmon remembers it, some eight or nine decades ago, as a squalid collection of mercenaries' tents pitched among the ruins of a greater city; truly, the current duke has done much for the fortunes of his people. There are merchants who make a living here now; there is a thriving pub that trades in rumors just as briskly as in any city to the west; there is an inn with room enough for all of them, though barely. "You'll have to double up in the beds, I figure," the proprietor tells them, and squints down at Maddox, "but you should all fit."

Which is all well and good -- there is no harm in bunking down with one's fellow soldiers -- save that when the rooms are divided, Caedmon finds himself sharing with Rush and Lord David, and no others. He thinks of the cloying scent of Abelisk blood clinging to Rush that afternoon, of the bright swipe through all that red where David licked it from his skin. He feels nervous as a kit first going to battle when he follows them up the stairs. For all of Rush's reassurances, it feels strange; the two of them are as obviously paired as anyone he can remember, and a good deal more devoted to each other than some mitra nobles he's seen. How can he simply intrude on that?

He will wait, he decides, and allow them to establish terms as they see fit. There are two beds, built in yama fashion: circular, low to the ground, and far larger than a single man of any other race might need. Caedmon chooses the one nearest the door out of habit, setting down his pack and reaching up to unbuckle his helmet. He does his best not to pay too close attention to the others, to afford them such privacy as the situation will allow.

Until Rush says, "Hey, Caedmon. You okay?"

He looks over and they are both watching him. "Pardon?"

"I understand that Rush has offered you a demonstration," David says. "Would you find such a thing to your liking?"

Caedmon's lower hands curl more tightly around the straps of his armor. "Only if I would not be...intruding," he says cautiously. When the breeze comes from the window, it brings him traces of their scents -- maddeningly overlaid, not simply similar because they are both healthy mitra males but mingled from their constant closeness.

"Not at all," David says, with a smile that seems different from the ones he makes in public; Caedmon listens for the tone of his voice to try to determine the nuance of it. "I confess I have no experience doing this for an audience, but I would be happy to have your company."

"See?" Rush says, giving Caedmon his wide, earnest smile. "It'll be fine. You're both good guys."

"One might think you had a type," David says, his tone teasing, and Rush answers by turning to kiss him.

It's the first time that Caedmon has truly watched such a thing. He has _seen_ it done before, of course, but it hadn't seemed polite to stare. Now, though, when he has been explicitly invited to watch -- he cannot look anywhere else. The flatness of their faces, the fullness of their lips, make it easy for mitra to indulge in such caresses, and the intimacy that it implies is breathtaking: they are tasting each other's mouths. Even with the bluntness of mitra teeth, there is such trust implied in the act, such beauty. Caedmon wonders if it is an act he could learn to perform, if Rush's mouth would open for his tongue like that.

Rush pulls back after a few moments to smile at Caedmon again. "Go ahead and get comfortable," he says. "We can wait, if you want to take that stuff off."

Caedmon blinks. "You are most considerate," he says, and begins to strip off his armor. There is no proper sovani armor stand here, but that comes as no surprise; to find an inn that has one is rare. Caedmon sets his braces and his greaves on the shelf beside the window, his cuirass on the floor beneath it. Rush and David watch _him_, still touching each other, but slowly. They wish for him to have no distractions -- for him to pay attention to them. The idea alone makes Caedmon's cock begin to thicken in its sheath.

"There we go," Rush says, when Caedmon has stripped to his thin under-armor leathers. "Your turn."

"Mine?" David asks, one eyebrow arched -- the expression denotes surprise, but the tone still sounds amused.

Rush nods. "These things take forever," he says, curling his fingers in the leather strap wound up the length of David's right arm. "Come on."

They disrobe each other with attentiveness and delight, as though they are unwrapping gifts. Bared, their skin is smooth and fragrant, Rush the creamy pale color of Balterossan sandstone, David the rich warm shade of Gaslin copper. They are both nearly hairless, save for the tufts that grow beneath their arms and between their thighs. The sight of their cocks is still shocking -- the way they hang fully exposed, only slightly darker than the skin surrounding them. David pulls Rush close again, fits their narrow hips together so that their cocks are trapped between their smooth stomachs. They kiss again, their hands stroking over each other's skin -- slowly, but with purpose, tracing curves of muscle and bone. When both of David's hands drop to cup Rush's ass and squeeze, Rush breaks the kiss by laughing.

"You know what you want, huh?" Rush says.

"I've heard it was your suggestion," David answers lightly. He takes a short step back. "We have plenty of oil, I hope?"

"Oh yeah," Rush says. "More than enough." He disengages for long enough to hunt through his own pack of supplies and draw out a flask of the fresh oil that forms the base of the simpler potion recipes. "Here," he says, tossing the flask to David and claiming the bed for himself in a casual sprawl of limbs.

David uncorks the vial, and smiles at Caedmon as he climbs onto the bed. "Would you like to come closer?" he asks. "I'm not sure how well you'll be able to see from that distance." The scent, as he moves -- it's so much like the first time Caedmon lay down with Rush, that combination of excitement and nervousness. No wonder mitra seem so vibrant, if they feel pleasure so often in combination with such tumultous emotions.

"Thank you," Caedmon says, abandoning his own bed to kneel at the edge of theirs.

"Probably like this, huh," Rush says, positioning himself on his hands and knees, his back arched to present his ass. He looks back over his shoulder at Caedmon and winks. "Should make it easy for you to see what's going on."

David strokes the back of Rush's thigh. "What a show-off you are," he says. "I hadn't realized you craved an audience so much."

Rush shrugs. "It sounded like fun," he says. "I like trying new things."

"I'll keep that in mind," David says. His tone sounds like he's almost laughing again -- as though everything about Rush delights him. Caedmon certainly cannot fault him that.

David anoints the fingers of one hand with the oil. With the other, he spreads open the cleft of Rush's ass, then strokes the bared pink skin with his oiled fingers. The musk they both exude is heady and dark, a scent that clings heavily to the back of Caedmon's tongue. His cock stiffens further, the tip sliding free of the sheath to rub against his leathers. That feels strange, so he unlaces them to relieve the pressure.

"Now?" David asks softly.

"Please," Rush says, rocking back -- nothing forced, nothing awkward about it; he must truly not mind it, strange as that still seems.

David presses one finger into him and he lets his breath out in a sweet, low moan. To say he doesn't mind it, Caedmon realizes abruptly, is to understate the case severely. He pushes into the touch as though he wants more, muscles flexing under his bare skin in a languid, sensual rhythm. Caedmon wants to touch him, wants to feel that motion under his hands.

"More," Rush says, shifting his weight onto one elbow and reaching under himself with his freed hand. The bright, bitter scent of his fluids is clear on the air for a second, and a purr stutters in Caedmon's throat. He swallows the noise almost immediately, but not before David catches it and smiles at him.

"Come closer," David says, pressing a second finger into Rush's ass and twisting his wrist so Rush squirms hungrily. "Rush? Would you like to have Caedmon touching you, too?"

"Yes," Rush moans. "Oh, hell yes."

The purr rises in Caedmon's throat again, reflexive, and he doesn't try to still it this time, only takes the invitation, shifting to kneel beside Rush and run his hands over the clean, smooth lines of Rush's back, his arms, his flanks. Rush turns his head to rub his cheek affectionately against one exploring hand, and Caedmon laughs softly in delight. "Beautiful," he says.

Rush kisses his palm. "Thanks," he says. He sounds surprised, as though he doesn't know how lovely he is. "Dave...."

"Now?" David asks, and when Rush nods, he withdraws his hand. He anoints his cock with oil, so it shines wet in the light, and shifts closer to Rush. Caedmon leans in and watches, scarcely breathing, as David presses his cock slowly into Rush's ass. Rush shudders with pleasure, moaning again, and Caedmon's cock slides a little further from its sheath. The way he yields -- the joy he takes in doing so -- it's breathtaking.

At first Rush only holds his position, letting David thrust into him, but after a few moments he begins to move as well. "Feels good," he says, his voice thick with pleasure, and releases his grip on his cock to catch at Caedmon's leathers. "Come here."

"Greedy," David says admiringly. "You want to take him, too?" Rush nods, but Caedmon would swear the fresh burst of nervous scent comes from David, who says, "Go ahead, then," perhaps to both of them.

Caedmon's heart pounds, and he wonders if they can smell _his_ case of nerves. "I am honored," he says, curling a hand around his sheath to draw it back and bare his cock completely. "If it becomes too much --"

"I'll let you know, don't worry," Rush says. He pulls Caedmon closer, stretching out his soft, wet tongue to lick the ridge of Caedmon's cock.

Caedmon has not forgotten the sweet luxury of his mouth, how lush and yielding his lips and tongue feel, the delight only intensified by the scrape of his blunt teeth. Caedmon feeds Rush his cock slowly, trying to be careful -- it must be overwhelming, trying to pleasure them both, though the sounds Rush makes still seem to be encouraging and the sweetness of his scent is intoxicating.

When Caedmon looks up to see how David fares, he finds that David is watching him, expression intent and hungry -- there is something electrical about him now, something charged and fierce, the same energy that makes his troops rally to his banner. Whatever he sees in Caedmon's face, it seems to satisfy him; he smiles, that tiny, private smile that Caedmon has only seen here. "Enjoying yourself?" he asks, and Caedmon is not sure whom he addresses.

Rush has no such hesitations; he moans, full-throated and needy, rocking between them. David's eyelids flutter, and his hands curl tight around Rush's hips, digging into the pale flesh. Soon, Caedmon thinks, he will climax -- and that thought brings _him_ closer, as well -- that they will both mark Rush, both fill him. Is there an etiquette for this? Should he wait, as one waits to allow one's lord the honor of first blood in a hunt, or should he try to finish, to allow them the intimacy of attending to each other?

His throat shapes the question, but he gets no further than "Should I --" before David stops him with a beautiful, broken moan:

"Rush," David breathes, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath stuttering as he trembles in the grip of climax -- and at once Caedmon has little control left and wants none; he thinks he has never seen something to equal this. He looks down, watching the slide of his cock past Rush's lips, focusing on the feel of that wet heat and the vivid scent of arousal -- and he manages to growl a warning but then he's finished, spilling helplessly in Rush's mouth.

Rush pulls back, his face flushed, his lips swollen and slick with Caedmon's fluids; David keeps pulling him back until he sits straddling David's thighs. "Yeah," he says, when David wraps a hand around his cock, "like that, aah --"

Caedmon moves before he's had a chance to talk himself out of it. "May I?" he asks, leaning down.

David moans, and Rush says, "_Yes_," so Caedmon lowers his head further to lap at the head of Rush's cock. This close, his scent is almost overpowering, and there are sharp notes of blood mingled in it, as though he couldn't quite rinse away all traces in the river earlier. His cock is stiff and flushed dark, David's hand working it steadily, and he makes ragged pleasure sounds at each touch of Caedmon's tongue -- until together they bring him to climax, trembling between them, and Caedmon licks the bitter fluids from David's fingers.

When he sits up, Rush has leaned back -- awkward as the position must be -- to kiss David, his throat bared and pale, his mouth curved in a smile. David is smiling, too, by the time Rush breaks the kiss and eases out of his lap. Caedmon looks from one of them to the other. "That looks...enjoyable," he says. He's not sure how to ask.

David shifts toward him. "You haven't, have you? I know it's a mitra custom." He reaches up to cup Caedmon's face in his hands. "Gently," he says, and leans in to press his mouth to Caedmon's.

"Wow," Rush says softly, both characteristically blunt and entirely accurate -- the softness of David's mouth is wonderful, and his tongue teases Caedmon's, playing and retreating.

Caedmon cannot help glancing at Rush, afterward, which means he is nearly prepared when Rush takes the opportunity to claim a kiss of his own, sliding one arm around David in the same movement to keep them all close together. It is a good feeling, being so close.

And Rush must think so too, because he pulls them both down to lie stretched out beside him on the bed, like kits sharing a nest together. "There we go," he says. "Perfect." He lifts his head for long enough to look over Caedmon's shoulder at the empty bed. "Guess we probably could have slept someone else in here, huh?"

David laughs. "Three may be an adventure," he says, "but four is approaching a scandal."

Caedmon's hand finds David's over the warm flat of Rush's belly, their fingers lacing together. "Sovani are known to favor four as a general rule," he says, "but in this instance I do think three was an...ideal number."

Rush grins, squirming down into the mattress between them. "Yeah," he says, taking hold of their hands to keep them where they are. "Really, me too."


End file.
